A Wicked Reputation (Once Wicked)

by Liana Lefey

  Relief washed over him. “You have my undying gratitude, Westie. You won’t regret it.” Rising, he went to his brandy decanter and poured them each a drink.

  “I had better not,” his friend warned, eyeing him dubiously. “Good Lord, man. Why could you not have chosen an easier mark at which to aim the arrow of your ambition? Of all the women in London—in the whole of England, for that matter—you decide only the most difficult one to obtain will do. Aside from the queen, that is. Although, at this point, I’m not even certain of that. She might be easier to persuade. And safer.”

  Lucas thought about it for a minute. He didn’t know why her, exactly. But he couldn’t tell Westing that. “I like a challenge,” he finally said with a shrug.

  “A challenge?” Westing’s voice had risen an octave, and his eyebrows looked as if they were trying their best to meet his hairline. “If a challenge is what you seek, climb a mountain or sail the seven bloody seas—your chances of survival would be better!”

  Laughter came easily now that he had an accomplice. “Something about her draws me, Westie.”

  “You and every other male that sees her,” groused the other man over the rim of his glass. “I’ll not deny she’s damned attractive. However, some of us have better sense than to be lured onto the rocks by feminine wiles.”

  If that’s what happened, then so be it. “It’s too late to turn this ship. I’ve set my course, and I mean to stay it.”

  But Westing had more questions in store. “And what if you find out she is in fact…with…both of them? Will you still want her?”

  “Why would I not?” he answered drily. “It’s not as if I’m looking to make her my wife.”

  “God forbid!” said Westing with a shudder. “Your father would never allow it.”

  “Forget my father—it’s my mother I’m concerned about. She’d part my head from my shoulders with the sharp side of her tongue.”

  “Indeed. So your only motivation in this is to verify the color of the lady’s bedsheets?”

  “You’ve met her, what do you think?” Lucas waited, but his friend’s answer was slow in coming.

  “I think if I were not already nearly engaged to someone else, I might consider pursuing her, myself,” said Westing at last. “She is not at all what I expected.”

  The way he said it made Lucas’s jaw tighten. “Yes, well. The most interesting people tend to thwart all expectations.”

  “Indeed they do,” said his friend with a pointed look that quickly turned droll. “In truth, were she not a courtesan, I think any man would count himself damned lucky to have her for his own.”

  Now Lucas knew he was being deliberately goaded. “Do I have to count you among my rivals, as well?”

  “Rival? Me? As if she’d even consider me.”

  “She seemed to like you well enough. You certainly spent a long while talking at the picnic.”

  “I did indeed, thanks to your desire to chase after Harrow. I must assume your charm had the desired effect, as you’re to be there Tuesday?”

  He ignored the mild gibe, knowing it was warranted. “What did you tell her about me?”

  “Oho! So that’s your aim, is it? Nothing.”

  “Oh, come now, Westing. She knows we’re close friends. Surely my name had to come up in conversation.”

  Westing’s expression grew smug. “The only thing she said concerning you was to ask me to warn you that she’s not an easy conquest. What was it? Ah, yes. She’s had both paupers and peers try to convince her to abandon Harrow, but the man who succeeds will offer her something he cannot.”

  “But Harrow is not the one I have to persuade her to abandon,” Lucas grumbled. Frowning, he took another sip of brandy. “I know nothing of her true lover,” he lied. “How am I to compete with an unknown quantity?”

  “I suppose you’ll have to trick her into revealing what’s lacking between them and then try to provide it.”

  It sounded so simple; however, he knew it was anything but. “She truly did not ask anything at all about me?”

  Westing cast him a knowing smirk. “Contrary to your perception of your own importance, there are many other subjects on which to expound besides you. But if it’s any comfort, you can rest assured I’m not her sort. She thinks me too wholesome.”

  A chuckle burst from Lucas’s throat. “Did she actually say so?” The withering glance he in turn received told him she had indeed. “I’d happily correct her terrible error in judgment, but I suspect it works in my favor. Well, at least I don’t have to worry she’ll fall for the wrong man. Best have an eye on Harrow, though,” he teased. “He appeared to take quite a liking to you.”

  A flush rose up from beneath Westing’s collar, and he muttered, “I’ll thank you not to encourage him in that direction.”

  “Perhaps you ought not to have accepted his invitation, then?”

  “Perhaps not, but I accepted it under no false pretenses,” said Westing, coloring further. “All speculation aside, he’s a wealthy marquess, and I currently cannot afford to appear rude to my betters. I merely looked to befriend the man. It is my right.”

  “Of course, as long as you remember who was your friend first.” He hadn’t meant it to come out so sharp, but there it was. Shame filled him at the crestfallen look on his oldest friend’s face. “Forgive me, Westie. I’ve not been myself of late,” he confessed.

  Westing’s speculative gaze settled on him. “I’ve noticed,” he said drily. “Bloody hell, you really are the jealous sort. And I’m flattered, by the bye.”

  Good humor restored, Lucas smiled into his brandy, taking a sip. “You should be,” he quipped. “It’s not every day I’m caught being so sentimental.”

  “Save it for Harrow,” laughed Westing, holding up a hand. “He’s the one you must impress.”

  When it arrived, Tuesday’s game night was accompanied by inclement weather. Lucas half expected Westing to show up at his house early so they might go together, but he didn’t. Part of him almost hoped he’d chosen to bow out. Thus it was a surprise when he was shown into the salon to find his best friend already seated before the hearth, sipping mulled wine, and chatting amiably with Lady Diana.

  Again, jealousy boiled up within him at how at ease they appeared with one another. But that had been the plan; Westing was to keep her occupied while he mainly concentrated on Harrow. They could trade company later, after he’d convinced Diana he’d taken her advice to heart.

  Harrow was as affable as ever, though Lucas could have sworn the man was watching him more closely now. He dismissed it as nerves. He’d never tried to flirt with a man and didn’t quite know what to do, so he fell back on what was comfortable. Talk centered on the usual topics discussed between gentlemen, and he slowly began to relax.

  He liked Harrow well enough that the idea of being friends with him was agreeable. But every time he thought about deliberately attempting to make the man think he was interested in more, his palms began to sweat, and his cravat seemed to constrict around his throat.

  The longer he sat there, the more he worried he’d be unable to do it. Worse, he grew concerned Harrow would sense his unease. The mulled wine helped, but too much would be a bad thing, so he practiced the art of balancing on the knife’s edge between alcohol’s comforting embrace and sobriety’s unloving grip.

  Chapter Ten

  Diana watched as Blackthorn took the seat opposite Harrow at the card table. His distracted, fidgety demeanor had her caught somewhere between laughter and pity. How Harrow was maintaining such a calm exterior was beyond her. When she’d told him what had transpired between them at the picnic, he’d laughed so hard he’d cried.

  On several occasions, she marked Westing’s nervous glances in their direction. Within twenty minutes of Blackthorn’s arrival, she knew the two were in each other’s confidences. It was only fair. After all, she and Harrow were a team, too.

  Playing cards seemed to have a strangely calming effect on Blackthorn. She attributed it
to distraction at first, but then realized it was more than that. He was a skilled player. They all were, but his focus seemed a bit too intent for a friendly match. Several games in, she realized his was the manner of a professional gambler, and another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

  His willingness to take what most would consider a dangerous risk suddenly made sense. He wasn’t the sort to back down from a challenge. His very nature demanded that he rise to meet it. In that area, they were very alike.

  The games ended in a dead tie, which Blackthorn likely attributed to Westing’s skill rather than hers. It didn’t matter to her in the least. In fact, it worked to her advantage to let him think her less clever than she was.

  Throughout dinner, the four of them covered a range of subjects, the conversation flowing easily between them. Blackthorn’s gaze rested on her a bit more frequently than before, but she noticed he made a marked effort to look at Harrow often, too.

  Harrow, bless him, returned each glance with just the right amount of intensity to make the fellow squirm and look away, pink-faced.

  She had to give it to Blackthorn—he was indeed giving it his best effort.

  As for Westing, he was excellent company and admirably fulfilled his role as a distraction. In her case, a welcome one. Anything that kept her from paying too much attention to the sensations elicited by Blackthorn’s nearness was a good thing. She revised her earlier decision to exempt him from her company for his own benefit. Could she help it if he’d thrown his lot in with Blackthorn? He’d made his choice. She’d try her best to see he didn’t regret it, but would make no promises.

  Following dinner, the four retired to the salon for more games. This time, they swapped partners, and she ended up with Blackthorn. They made a surprisingly good team. He was an intuitive player, at times seeming to know what cards she held before they were revealed. She suspected he did.

  After playing with him for an hour, she realized she’d erred in thinking he didn’t respect her skill. Rather than making her a passive partner, he worked with her to maximize their cards. Winning against the other pair was all but effortless, a fact greatly lamented by their opponents, who’d been roundly drubbed.

  Blackthorn’s open admiration of her ability warmed her inside. As much as she’d intended to see him make a fool of himself trying to flirt with Harrow, she was rather glad he hadn’t.

  As the men were preparing to depart, however, he appeared to remember his promise.

  When Harrow reached out to shake hands in farewell, Blackthorn held on a bit longer than necessary and shot him such an intense look that it elicited a twinge below her navel. To her shock, it appeared to have an effect on Harrow, too. His eyes widened a fraction, and a tinge of color entered his cheeks before he managed to compose himself and bid their guest goodbye.

  The look Blackthorn gave her when he bowed over her hand a moment later was one of smug triumph. A shiver of heat ran through her as it changed to one even more intense than that to which he’d subjected Harrow. Blackthorn’s hot, dry fingers slid beneath hers, setting off little sparks deep inside. Those sparks ignited into a bonfire when his warm lips brushed against her skin.

  A melting sensation swept through her, eliciting tingles in unmentionable places, simultaneously scrambling her brain and setting off warning bells. Keeping her distance was going to be much harder than anticipated.

  As soon as their guests were on the other side of the door, she went straight to the decanter and poured two stiff drinks, one for herself and another for Harrow.

  Harrow didn’t even blink. “George’s gout, what have we gotten ourselves into?” he muttered as he accepted his.

  She swallowed a mouthful of fire, barely refraining from making a face at the burning trail it left in its wake before answering, “Trouble. Let us hope not more than we can manage.” Eyeing her friend, she smirked. “I thought you immune to his charms?”

  He huffed a laugh. “So did I, but I was unprepared for that. I swear if you had not warned me he was going to pretend an interest, I might have thought it genuine. A body would have to be cold in the grave at least three days not to have been affected. You’re certain he’s only playacting?”

  The hint of wistfulness in his tone broke the tension, and she released the laugh she’d been holding in all evening. “Should I warn René he has competition?”

  “Bite your tongue,” he replied with mock severity, knocking back his drink. This more than anything told her it had affected him more than he was happy to admit. “He may be a handsome devil, but so is René, and he has my heart.” His look turned sly. “I was not the only one flustered by the man. I saw the way you blushed every time he looked at you tonight, especially just now.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said, putting her nose in the air. The effect was ruined by the giggle that erupted from her lips, however. Her head felt light, and she grasped the back of a chair to steady herself.

  Harrow’s eyes narrowed. Before she could protest, he gently took the glass from her hand. “I think you’ve had enough. It won’t help anyway, not really. And you don’t wish a headache in the morning.”

  It was probably too late for that, but she conceded without argument. As for helping, the alcohol seemed to have the opposite effect. If anything, it made her feel more vulnerable and at the mercy of her emotions. “How am I to endure this, this…wanting?” she asked, beyond caring how embarrassed she ought to have been.

  “You’re not,” answered her friend. “I told you it would become more than you’ll be able to bear. If you think it’s bad now, just wait.” He downed the rest of her drink and set aside their glasses. “Giving in too soon would be a mistake, however, so we must plan ahead.”

  “Easy for you to say ‘wait’ when you have René,” she grumbled.

  A guilty grin flashed across Harrow’s face. “I do, indeed.”

  Heat flared in her cheeks, and she pulled a face. “I don’t want to know,” she half sang before giving in to laughter.

  Coming over, he wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

  Diana leaned in and let herself be comforted for a moment. “I’m glad you have each other,” she said, determined not to feel jealous.

  “As am I.” He placed a kiss atop her head and whispered, “You won’t be alone forever.”

  She let out a sigh. “Sometimes it feels as if I will. All my old friends are married now.”

  “Trust me when I tell you it’s likely better you waited,” he said, leading her toward the stairs. “So many women marry young and come to regret it. When you wed, it will be for nothing less than love.”

  “You’re thinking of Minerva again and making yourself sad,” she murmured, shaking a finger at him.

  “She’ll never know love the way she deserves.”

  “We’ve talked about this,” she admonished.

  Now he was the one to sigh. “I know, but it was still selfish of me. And it was selfish of me to make you part of my facade.”

  “Nonsense. What would I have done if not for you?” She didn’t wait for an answer before changing the subject. “What shall we do next with regards to Blackthorn?”

  “Continue to let him think he’s succeeding.”

  “That should be easy, given both our reactions tonight. I imagine he must be quite proud of himself at the moment, having made us blush. Any idea how long we should let it go before entering the next stage of the game?”

  “You’ll know when the time is right, and you’ll tell me,” he said, steering her down the hallway and into her bedchamber.

  Diana let him lead her over to the bed and sit her on its edge. The room was spinning ever so slightly. She really ought to have had better sense than to try and drink brandy on top of all the wine she’d had with dinner and the sherry she’d enjoyed during cards. She’d been worse off but knew this was still going to bite her in the arse tomorrow morning.

  The sound of Harrow closing the curtains behind
her filled her with intense relief. Knowing there would be no eyes watching from across the way as he helped her strip down to her chemise was a blessing. Ever since moving here, she’d felt like she was on display.

  On impulse, she leaned over and planted a kiss on Harrow’s cheek. “Thank you for being such a wonderful friend.”

  The corners of his kind eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve yet to see the end of this tribulation.”

  “Nonetheless, I thank you,” she insisted, peeling off her stockings. “And I promise I’ll do whatever I must to keep you, René, Minerva, and Henry safe. He won’t find out.”

  “I know,” he said, his tone placating as he helped her into bed and tucked the covers beneath her chin.

  She felt a bit ridiculous, a grown woman being put to bed like a small child, but it was also more comforting than she’d ever admit. As Harrow trimmed the lamp’s wick, she grimaced. What would Blackthorn say if he could see me now?

  “Try not to think about it anymore,” murmured Harrow as he opened the door to his and René’s room. “It will all become clear in time, and you’ll know what to do.”

  “I hope so,” she said, stifling a yawn.

  …

  Lucas refrained from getting the opera glasses back out again, but only just. The sight of Harrow leading Diana into her bedchamber had him pressing his nose against the glass, glad that he’d declined to light a lamp. It was just as well that he hadn’t gone to the trouble, because the man shut the drapes only a moment after depositing her on the bed.

  Seeing them together didn’t bother him at all. He was more confident than ever there was nothing between them, especially after his little experiment with Harrow had resulted in a rather spectacular blush from the man.